Twenty Nine Spikes: When Terrorists Derailed Amtrak's Sunset Limited

October 9th 2015 marked twenty years since Amtrak's Sunset Limited was derailed by an unknown person or persons in the desert 70 miles southwest of Phoenix, Arizona.

Looking West Towards Montgomery Pass And Quail Springs Wash

It's a lonely spot. This is where the Middle Of  Nowhere got its name. The pavement ends and it's fifteen miles west through the empty desert before you arrive at the derailment site at Quail Springs Wash; beyond that, another  fifteen miles of barrenness before you arrive at the Hyder General Store, a lone and lonely outpost for a few local farm hands. After leaving pavement you will likely see no other humans.

This portion of the rail line, which runs between Phoenix and Wellton, AZ, came late to Arizona.  Since the late 1800's Phoenix was at the end of two branch lines. The Santa Fe built their line into Phoenix from the north, and the Southern Pacific did the same from the south, but all trains from either line had to return the way they came. For years the state pressured the SP to build a line west from Phoenix that would complete a through route, and in 1926, this line was the result. 

On the night of October 9, 1995, the Sunset Limited  left Phoenix just before midnight, running southwest through Buckeye, then west into the barren desert towards Montgomery Pass.  At approximately 1:05 a.m., as it banked into the curve ahead of Quail Springs Wash at fifty miles per hour, the Limited's locomotives lurched and pounded across the bridge on the wooden ties before coming to an abrupt stop on the other side.  The coaches and the passengers didn't fare as well: Six cars derailed,  two of which fell--hard--thirty feet into the bottom of the dry wash.

 The Sunset Limited Rounded This Curve, Moments From Disaster

Many passengers suffered  injuries, some serious.  Miraculously, considering the speed and the fall into the wash, only one person was killed, sleeping car attendant Mitchell Bates. The train crew immediately sent out a radio call for help, but owing to the remote area, forty-five minutes passed before the first rescue units could get there.

When help came it came in spades: Men and equipment were everywhere, some getting stuck in the many desert washes which had to be crossed to reach the site. It was a crime-scene nightmare. By the time FBI investigators arrived, most evidence had been obliterated by law-enforcement vehicles, ambulances, fire rescue vehicles, helicopters, passengers and rescue personnel.

The only tangible evidence--at least that which has been publicly acknowledged--were several identical notes left at the site, upon which were references to Ruby Ridge and other recent events which the writer(s) took issue with.  It was signed by the "Sons of the Gestapo", a group previously unknown to law enforcement.

The rails had been tampered with. Twenty-nine spikes had been pulled out of the railroad ties and the outside rail on the curve was pried out of alignment. Whoever did it knew their geography, as the spot was the only one on the line that had a curve leading onto a bridge, likely chosen to cause maximum damage. And they were sly: The bonding wires were left connected between the misaligned rails, which cause the trackside signals to show a clear indication--the head end crew never saw it coming.

Quail Springs Wash And The Wrecked Sunset Limited

After twenty-plus years of investigation there is little evidence available as to who was responsible. But the authorities have by no means forgotten about it. The Unsolved Mysteries television program  broadcasted a segment on the incident some years back, and it was subsequently posted online at unsolved.com.  A few years back, I found the article and left my name and email address for any new information that might come to light.  Within a few days I was contacted by an FBI agent who told me he would "like to meet with me," and I did several times afterwards, talking theories and conjectures.  The FBI has subsequently announced the reward for information leading to arrests had been bumped to $310,000.

As mentioned, there are several things that stand out about this incident.  First, the perpetrator(s) had to be familiar with the area, and the location was chosen to cause a maximum amount of damage in a derailment.  They also had to have at least a rudimentary knowledge of  railroad signalling systems, enough to know the bonding wires had to be left attached between the rails, ensuring the engineer would see only a green signal in front of him.  Third, though rambling, there's that note left behind by the so-called "Sons of the Gestapo". Though no group using such a name has ever been publicly identified, it was plainly the work of someone who had strong opinions regarding some of the controversial steps used by the government in dealing with domestic issues.

Old-Style Semaphore Signals Like This Guarded The
Rail Line At The Time Of The Crash

The rails southwest of  Phoenix are quiet now, except for grain deliveries to a local egg ranch, and an occasional run to the Palo Verde Nuclear Power Plant to deliver equipment.  Beyond that, the line has been out of service since the Sunset Limited was rerouted in 1996 to a more direct route between Tucson and Yuma.  Rumors of reopening the line have been floating about for years, and there's also been talk of turning it into a high-speed rail route between Los Angeles and Phoenix, but only time will tell if any of this will become a reality. And maybe in time the perpetrators of this act of domestic terrorism will also be brought to justice.

See also this video footage from the derailment:

https://youtu.be/uVdhvwyWUpw

Sunset Over Palo Verde

Gay Marriage and Believers in Christ

Let's get everything out on the table.  Although I expected the Supreme Court to rule as it did on gay marriage, it was surprisingly upsetting to me.  I am a Christian and I understand that marriage is "...instituted of God..." and is between a man and a woman.  I don't agree with gay marriage, and I never will.  But at the same time, I  understand why gay people want to be included: They want acceptance, just like you and me.
So although I don't agree with gay marriage, I can understand their logic behind it, their desire to be included. I may not like the decision, but gay people understandably think of this as monumental.

I have a measure of respect for sincere liberals and homosexuals who see this as a civil right issue. I have greater respect for them than I do for the politicians or those who are "leaders" in the Christian culture who have crawled onto that bandwagon for political or social expedience--some at the very last moment.  I don't see them as having become 'enlightened', I see them as willows in the wind, bending with every prevailing political and moral breeze.  "Will this buy some votes?  Can I increase my popularity?  Count me in!!" There is ample scriptural evidence to support the premise that marriage is reserved for male and female pairing, and on that rock is where we should stand.

That's one side of the coin.  The other is the position taken by certain 'christians' who are hell-bent (literally, it seems) on wiping homosexuals from the face of the earth, like the Fred Phelps mob out of Kansas, or closer to home, "Pastor" Steven Anderson in Arizona who has stated he believes all homosexuals are pedophiles, and that they should all be killed.

How outrageous:  God doesn't hate gay people.  If  God hated gay people for homosexual sin, then he would also hate the Fred Phelps types for arrogance and pride ("For all have sinned..."), and he would hate Steven Anderson ("...and fall short of the glory of God.") for advocating murder. And he would also hate the person writing and those reading this blog. Thankfully, we live in the age of grace, brought to you by Jesus Christ.

So, where do we go from here?  Believers in Christ have to remember that though we are saved by grace, we are no different from homosexuals when it comes to sin.  Period.  And though we must abide by Biblical teachings about homosexuality, and oppose what we know is wrong, we must do so not as moral superiors, but as sinners ourselves.

You know, the whole thing is so simple, and I like others get so wrapped up in the "headline of the day" that I forget that Job One is to represent Christ.  It's not our job to "fix" gay people.

Gay people are much like you and me. They live on Elm Street, USA; they drive Toyotas or F150 pickups to work; they like to go to restaurants for a good dinner.  A gay man in California with whom I have had a long-standing friendship often converse via facebook on a number of subjects, including homosexual issues.  My wife had lunch with a lesbian coworker who had concerns about her mother's health. Sure, they look at some areas of life from a different viewpoint, but let's not let the divide grow by finger pointing or rejecting them.  Like everyone else, including you and me, they need the light of Jesus Christ in their life. There will always be a point of tension between who we are and who they are, but If we minister sincerely, as real friends, everyone will win.

The City on the Edge: San Francisco, April 1906

Nothing fires the imagination like the thought of time travel.  If we could only go forward; if we could only go back. But no machine yet invented can send us; no machine ever will.  But we can travel back, if only in a sense, through the magic of video. True, it's like viewing the world through a keyhole, but it's all we have and all we ever will have, and no piece of film does it better than the Miles Brothers film,  A Trip Down Market Street, which was shot just days before the great earthquake which destroyed San Francisco in April of 1906.  I invite you to view it at

                                    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEvB_ZIWtAg

Get past the commercial and begin your journey.

There's a dreamlike quality, almost a modern-day familiarity in watching these scenes.  It's 1906 and it's life as usual: Traffic is chaotic. A cop walking his beat casts a wary eye at the camera; businessmen in boiled shirts and bowler hats are everywhere; a paperboy peddles the day's news; a trolley full of sightseers crosses Market Street at an oblique angle; brass-era cars rattle past, dodging horses and wagons; the few women evident are dressed in dark, ankle-length dresses some in ostrich-plumed hats.  In the distance at the foot of Market Street is the Ferry Building--an earthquake survivor which stand majestically to this day. I could go on.

I've watched this film a hundred times, and each time I try to see more and I do see more.  It's almost like being there--you feel so close.

Near the end of the film at the Ferry Building, the cable car is turned around. Young boys jump into view and wave at the camera. They're all gone now of course, everyone is gone, lost to the earthquake, or to their years.  But they wave at us as though it is today--more than a century later.

Addendum: The last known survivor of the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 earthquake has passed away: http://www.marinij.com/obituaries/20160111/marin-resident-bill-del-monte-last-known-survivor-of-1906-quake-dies-at-109

The World and High School(s)

I was at our church for a meeting the other Sunday evening, and the guy next to me mentioned that he had lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  I once lived there and told him I had graduated from East High School, class of 1966.  Turns out both he and his wife were alumni. He was a couple years ahead of me, she a year behind. Hadn't known either one of them, but it was a nice contact.

Of course it sent me to the garage to haul down that extra-heavy box of annuals I keep for no good reason. Found her in the 1966 Wahina.

My high school journey was an odd one, since, owing to my dad's working for a defense contractor, I went to four of  'em in three years. Sophomore year was a split between San Lorenzo Valley, California and Andress HS, in Texas, junior was Knob Noster, Missouri, and senior year was another split, Knob Noster/Cheyenne East.  It made me stronger to do four schools, but it also stunk.  I don't even show up in the East annual, but at least my name is in the back. I think of it as a lemon/lemonade experience.

You can't appreciate how much things (read: people) change until you get out your old high school annual.   I've been privileged to find a few people from my schools with whom I was friends, but most of the people I knew in the past haven't given me a thought since the day I graduated--49 years ago today (May 20).  Even the gals I thought of as rather plain, well, they look a lot better through the lens of time.  I take that as an indicator as my being less arrogant or fearful as I was then.  I hope.  I should have been kinder, less  fearful.

When you don't stay in the town that you graduated in, and also owing to my curious streak, you give more thought to those you did know well, and are more diligent in searching out those you knew.  My good friend Berri lives in Tennessee, and in retirement shows up as an extra on the television series Memphis. Don, who was also my college roomate became an electrical engineer and now lives in a missile silo in Nebraska. A former girlfriend Susie resides in New Jersey, and there's gal in Texas I occasionally correspond with.   I could go on.

Like I said, I went to four schools in four states.  It wasn't a great way to do school, but it sure helped me to relate to people.  It was not so good because I was always the guy leaving, and when you're a teenager, being connected is very important. I'm also a "man without a country" in a school sense. There are few who remember me.  If I were to show up at a reunion at any one of those schools, it would be as a stranger among strangers.  Ah, well.

I remember when my dad went to his 50th high school reunion.  He graduated from Roosevelt High in Seattle in 1932. I remember hoping (as a guy in my mid-30's) that the old fossil would survive it.  He did, and now as I see my 50th year looming, it doesn't seem quite so daunting now as I perceived it was then.

Doubtless my kids think of me that way, though.

Why I Believe There Is a God

I believe in God.  Lots of people think those of us who are 'religious'  are that way because of superstition, or fear, or some pie-in-the-sky-all's-well-in-the-bye-and-bye belief in something beyond what we can see, like, you know, a secret friend, or an all-powerful super-hero, an Ultra-Batman who will arrive in the nick of time (or shortly thereafter) to set everything right.

But that's not why I believe there is a God. There are many reasons, sound reasons to believe; here are just a few:

First, I'm unable to conclude that everything on this earth, the plants, animals, and human beings, an ecosystem which is self-perpetuating and (thankfully) difficult to destroy came about by cosmic happenstance, or fluke.  The complexity of life in its many forms precludes this notion of a self-invented ecosystem.  It's a worn argument, but even taking the example of a car, and proposing it was the product of billions of years of unassisted engineering would get you laughed out of any showroom. And life in all its forms is infinitely--infinitely--more complex.  I'm not alone in this. There's a growing movement among some scientists (and not all of them 'religious') that happenstance and evolution could not account for life as we know it. "Darwin's Black Box", written by the eminent and highly-regarded biochemist Michael Behe, sees life forms as being the result of intelligent design.  He came to his conclusion because of the demonstrable fact of  'irreducible complexity', that is, the recognition of  life forms so simple they couldn't exist if even one of their  components was removed. He concludes therefore there had to be a designer to design such  organisms; it couldn't become what it is without a designer.

Second,  I recognize that we humans are essentially evil, not essentially good. If you think we're just a bunch of sweethearts, you need to read some history.  Oh, we have our moments of good, but even those are done to promote--us.  I have friends who are not religious and they consider themselves good people, and they are within a context.  I mean, they're not criminals or rapists. They pay their taxes, they're nice to their neighbors, they live respectable lives, etc. When I tell them I'm not good, it kind of throws them.  How could I, a guy who lives a life similar to theirs, not see myself as a good person? I do all the same things outwardly they do. It doesn't compute. But underneath that veneer of  goodness I project  (in part to keep my nastiness hidden) I recognize the anger, the bitterness, and the self-centeredness that's part of my nature--and yours. I repress it, but it shows up every so often. Ever have someone cut you off on the highway, and you give them the finger?  Ever drive when you've had too much to drink? Cheat on your taxes?  Lie?  No matter how much we want to pretend we're all sunshine and happiness, we actually have a lot of evil in us, and sooner or later it shows itself.

Finally, we have no reason to exist if there is no God.  If there isn't a creator, if we're just randomly spinning around in space, if our planet is a closed system, if life is a cosmic fluke, then I have to conclude that nothing we do or have here is of any value, and without value life is meaningless.  So what if we steal from our neighbors? So what if we kill our enemy?  Without an authority higher than man himself, Hitler was as right Mother Theresa.   If you do good, it means nothing; if you do evil, it means nothing.  Life becomes a dead-end street, having no meaning beyond eating well and impressing others with what you have or have done or are able to do--all meaningless at best, anarchy at worst.

  A few years ago my wife and I flew to Washington D.C.  During the flight I looked down and I spotted a little town, probably in Kansas or somewhere, and  I started thinking about the people in that town, and how some of them were big-shot officials, and some of them were making big money on some deal or another. And I thought how proud and important they must feel, or how pleased they were with the size of their bank account. But who they were or what they did was insignificant--even from 30,000 feet up. Pinprick towns on a pinprick planet in the cold, airless, vastness of space.

It seems I've painted a picture of  hopelessness and despair. Insignificant captives on a less-than-obscure planet.  But there's great hope: Comes from God.

Next blog.

On Aging...

When you're young you seldom thing about becoming old, maybe never, but unless some event happens to interrupt our lives--we grow old.  My next birthday I'll be 67 years old, or to quote Mark Twain, "nearly so if I'm dead".  I figure I have about 14 years left, maybe not all of that in the relatively good health I now enjoy.  So I wonder, "what's ahead?"

Being older is a strange place, because I don't think of myself as old.  In spirit, within the confines of our head, most of us think of ourselves as young.  I still relate well to the younger set.  I work part-time, and most of the people I work with, better than half, are under thirty; indeed, several are under twenty five. I'm the different one, separated by age, and their attitudes towards me remind me of that always.  No unkindness, but a tacit acknowledgement of the age gap on their part.  It matters not how I perceive myself, outwardly I waste away.

Yet, do I wish to be younger?  No.  Although I am understanding my age insofar as aches and pains, I wouldn't trade my experiences, my knowledge and the portion of wisdom that I have accrued in my nearly 67 years for youth:  For what? To go through life again?  I think not.  Talking to young people is like trying to fill a wine vat with a teaspoon: You want to impart to them your knowledge, experiences, your wisdom, but you realize that most of what has been learned that's worthwhile is gained only with time.  What they learn in great part must come from their experiences. It'll happen, but there are few shortcuts.

Do I fear death?  No, but I do fear dying, but only because of the spectre of suffering.   Behind me as I write is a large photo of my dad dated May 6th 1938, leaning casually on his Nash roadster, a youth of 25 years. In his last years, he suffered  a series of small strokes which slowly robbed him of his life and vitality. He who was intelligent and humorous became helpless and unable to care for himself. For some time I went twice a day to his apartment, got him out of bed and cleaned and dressed him, and took his soiled bed linen and washed it.  It was a burden, yet I treasure the memory. I wonder:  Will my children be so honored?  In some ways, I hope so. In others, no.

Certainly 2014 was the year I came to realize that I really don't have all that I had in youth, that the body deteriorates.  My strength has deteriorated to the point I can't "whip my weight in wildcats" any more, and a younger assailant may well take me down, unless I'm willing to cheat  (and I am!).  I realize that I'm perhaps (and this is harder to admit) not as quick mentally as I once was.

2014 was a wake-up call in other ways as well.  My sister died, my wife's uncle died and her oldest sister died. We're entering the age of funerals and memorials, Those are the 'awards ceremonies' we will likely be attending in the coming years. I haven't lost any of my close friends yet, but that's around the corner as well-- unless of course my close friends lose me first.  Old people talk about their aches, pains, and medical problems. When I was young, I wondered why, but now as I've reached that age, now I know why they talked about them so much:  First, health and maintaining it becomes a priority, an always in-your-face situation, and second, everyone of my age has health problems. It's just the way it is.

I looked at google earth the other night, thought I would try to find something worthwhile to discover or research.  As I zoomed in from, I don't know, five thousand miles above the earth to near where we live, it left me with this uncomfortable feeling of how small I am, something less than a pinprick on a pinprick in this universe.  Reminded me of the time we flew to Washington D.C.. As I looked out the window from thirty thousand feet, I saw this little town, maybe in Indiana or Kansas somewhere with its grid of streets, and I thought to myself that somewhere in that little knot of civilization, there was someone who took great pride in being one of the leading citizens, on how he or she had had his or her way with the city council, or maybe had swung some big real estate deal.  But even from a mere 30,000 feet their accomplishments became insignificant.  "For what shall it profit a man...?".

As I grow older I find I don't crave material possessions--as much.  The urge to get stuff is still there, but the breadth of the desire is narrower.  I've gone through the motorcycle phase; the old car phase; the fast car phase, even the big house phase, and probably a few other phases I can't recall.  But those things just don't mean as much as they once did. I've realized that much of what I bought and did were done for the approval of others.  I remember an old woman I used to see driving around our neighborhood in a Cadillac sedan, when Cadillacs were still huge.  Her hair was carefully coiffured, the car was large and immaculate, and she practically sat sideways in the drivers seat facing the window so everyone could see her.  I don't want to be remembered like that.

Another poignant remembrance was a visit to an elderly couple who lived in a large, wonderful home in a very affluent area near us.  They were both in ill health. He said to me, "All our lives we worked hard so we could have these nice things, and now we are too old and sick to enjoy them."  I hope he didn't exit this world with that lament, that his life came to mean more than the sum of his possessions, and his big house.

As you grow older your focus changes, you shift gears (downshift, that is).  My interest in stuff has lessened, and my interest in people has blossomed.  We have good friends in prison, and we visit them monthly;  I have a homeless friend, "Bible Mike", whom I see from time to time and help out, give him money, sometimes clothes, and once even a bicycle.  And I see others and have a greater compassion for them, even people I don't know well, like my co-workers.  I have a son and a daughter, and we are learning to be better parents, in-laws, and grandparents.  You never stop learning with those titles.

The saying is, "Time flies when you're having fun." To which I would add, "...and when you're not".  I wouldn't trade my experiences, especially in retrospect.   Life is short when viewed from the far end.  Making good use of it is more than being young and having good times.  All experiences in life are (or should be) important for what they teach.  I would argue that looking back is as valuable as looking forward. To be young again?  Nah.  First, it's not possible; second, I'd have to run the Gauntlet of Life all over again, and third, who needs it?  I've already been here.

There Are Certain Things......

There are certain things, actions, or events which threaten to upset the equilibrium of the universe. Occasionally they are seen in real time, and they are the most threatening.

Take for instance people who drive their cars with their doggy in their lap.  Just the other day I was driving home from my psychiatrist. Our meeting had resulted in a breakthrough in dealing with my anger and phobias, when I spied this SUV with a dog's head stuck out the driver's window.

I'm not an animal hater.  As we all know, there are a lot of dogs out there that should be driving the cars instead of people.

The driver is--almost without exception--middle- or upper-middle class, in an upscale car or SUV.  The dog is typically named Princesss or Tifffanee, or a similar gutless name. The dog eats better food than anyone in a rotting third-world nation, and lives in a nice upper-middle-class home.  No drafty doghouse for our Tifffanee.  Awwwww......

The canines fit a profile too: Small and professionally groomed, white or light brown, and always with a ribbon or two tied around their neck. How about a dog sweater for the dear one!? Another thing:  The beloved one is likely smarter than the driver. Hey, who's the one being chauffeured?

Really, do we love our dogs so much they have to be in our laps at all speeds up to 70 miles per hour?  I love my kids, but when they were little I put them in the rear seat, well restrained.

When I got home I made an emergency appointment with my shrink.